


Never Just a Figure of Speech

by IncurableNecromantic



Series: Pragmatic Dreams [2]
Category: The Sandman
Genre: Fluff, M/M, and a little gore, just fluff, really nothing but fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-29
Updated: 2012-07-29
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:33:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,758
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472457
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IncurableNecromantic/pseuds/IncurableNecromantic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Dreaming is always very, very literal.</p><p>Lucien is haunted all day long by an absent noise he cannot identify.  When he finally gets it, he's landed in an awkward social situation.  </p><p>Takes place after A Fine Soul.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Just a Figure of Speech

Dreams slept, now and then.  They were alive, after all, though not necessarily living--that was a rather tricky distinct that Lucien kept meaning to ask Lady Death to clarify--and they had certain urges.  It might have come from the fact that they associated so closely with living things that needed to eat and to sleep to go on living.  Dreams could subsist without food or rest for a very long time, however; for instance, Lucien knew for a fact that he could do a stretch of seventy years at a go without so much as a nap.  

Need aside, the fact was the sleeping was restorative and pleasant, and it wasn’t surprising that many Dreams took a little time out of each of their work days to unwind and fall unconscious.

It was from one of these little fits of slumber that Lucien waked one day, gradually growing alarmed by a noise.  Or more precisely, the lack of a noise.

He sat up in bed, glancing around his small bedroom.  His clocks, useless though they were, were ticking calmly.  He listened carefully as he took his first deep breath of the day.  There was nothing unusual there.

Hm.  Peculiar.  He had the feeling he was forgetting something, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on just what.

He rose from his bed and began his daily routine, haunted by the sensation of forgetting.  As he knotted his tie around his neck, he looked in the mirror, counting his features.  All there.  How very strange, that something was missing.

He popped into the kitchens long enough to collect a cup of tea and a raw steak and left with his ears ringing.  The lack of noise this morning, though unsettling, had been rather nice.  Lucien did very well with quiet and solitude, and he was keen to escape the dominion of clattering pots and pans.

The Library was precisely as he had left it the evening before, and that was the way Lucien liked it.  He put the steak on his desk and swiftly downed his tea, ready to get some work done.  With the ease of long practice, he tamed the thicket the new arrivals formed, writing down the book’s new home on a little label and placing it gently inside.  Then he put them into the three main morning groups: Secrets, for Abel, Mysteries, for Cain, and everything else, for himself.

He forgot things, things that weren’t books.  But that meant that he never, ever forgot a book.  He had his armchair, and when everything was correctly categorized, he would sit down and read them.  Every last word.  Of everything.  And he never forgot.  That was part of why people came to him.  They could ask something like “In what book does the sentence ‘Albert J. Puffwhistle ate the wings of forty seven and a half violet airplanes’ occur?” and he could tell them instantly which book, and in what chapter, and where that book was.  And also that it had been spelled ‘aeroplane,’ not ‘airplane.’

A meager talent, perhaps, but that was what his particular brain had been made for.  Lord Dream had thought it suitable that a Librarian be able to perform such an office, and Lucien was inclined to agree with him.  So part of his duties involved reading everything.

Or almost everything.  Granted, now and then a few Mysteries or Secrets filtered into his own reading, but that was only after Cain and Abel had gotten at them.  When they were fresh, they supposedly still had the answer on the page.  As soon as more than one person knew that solution, however, poof--there it was, just a book, not a secret or a mystery at all.  That was why Lucien didn’t read those as they came in.

Cain and Abel absorbed the solutions, as it were.  Lucien had been nervous for many years that they must have been erasing or blotting out some of the words of his precious books, but he’d learned later, courtesy of Abel whispering the secret in his ear, that the real secret and solution just leapt into their brains.  They were repositories for all the last lines, all the twist endings, all the painfully simple answers that no one could ever work out.

Lucien didn’t know if he bought that leaping-off-the-page business, but try as he might, he could never find the slightest trace of any outside effacing.  He accepted Abel’s notion as the official reason, but he privately wondered to himself if the brothers weren’t just a bit mad and that there were never any written solutions at all, and that they just made up their own.

The needs of the new arrivals temporarily satisfied, Lucien made his rounds.  No one had entered yet, not even the janitorial staff.  And didn’t it show!  The whole place could do with a good washing, in his estimation--Lord Dream’s mood had been exceedingly mild since his ‘change,’ which meant that the Library hadn’t been flooded since some time before, when he had been digesting the dissolution of his last romantic dalliance.

To his shame, Lucien had come to rely somewhat upon those moods, and had found that it was easier to wait them out and clean the floors after.  Now that it had been so long, the place was getting rather dusty.  He could see the path he’d made when doing his rounds yesterday evening, the precise and sharply-defined footprints on the greying floor.  He’d talk to Mervyn about giving the place a good solid scrubbing.  

He stopped short, frowning.  There it was again, that sound-that-wasn’t-there.  He stood very still, listening for it against all the silence in the library.  What was it?  There was something that should be here, that wasn’t.  He knew it had to be something he heard everyday, something unremarkable, something he was so used to that it only bothered him by its very subtle absence...

After a few moments, he moved on.  No sense in dawdling, grasping for straws.  It would come to him.

He stopped by his desk and collected the steak, taking it with him to the restricted section.  The eldritch tomes were still in order, though he had to swap around a few of the more unspeakable horrors.  He fed the raw meat to those books that needed charnel blood and flesh to remain in top condition and wiped his hands on his handkerchief.

All was as it should be, that distracting noiselessness aside.

He reached his desk just in time to intercept Cain.  “Ah, good morning,” he said, the first words of the day.  Somedays those three words were the only ones he spoke.

Cain nodded at him, apparently annoyed.  Cain only really had two general moods: annoyed and alarmingly cheerful.  Lucien interpreted this annoyance as that of a man who has yet to fully awaken.  “I’m picking up for Abel this morning as well.  He had an...unfortunate accident in the night and isn’t feeling quite himself.”

Oh, for all love.  Dead, this early in the morning?  Poor fellow.  Lucien rather liked Abel, because he was harmless and inclined to be quiet, and he sought Lucien’s company. They were friends, Lucien supposed. If Abel didn’t have the excuse of his books to collect, once he was alive again, he’d be under his brother’s thumb all day.  Lucien flicked the tails of his coat away and sat down, recording the titles in the checkout roster.  “Would you please ask him to come visit me later in the day, if he can spare the time?”

“What about?” Cain asked.  The First Murderer was not particularly fond of him, Lucien thought.  He wasn’t entirely sure why.  Perhaps because he took an interest in Abel?  Perhaps because Lucien read everything here, which included transcripts of the dreams of Dreams?  He did happen to know a lot about Cain’s inner thoughts than anyone else, besides the man himself.

The feeling was mutual. Lucien disapproved of murder, for it was loud and unpleasant and messy, and very rude, and he thought Cain had far too much relish for it. Besides, the First Murderer was dramatic and flamboyant and, to be blunt, rather silly. Lucien did not have the patience for silliness.

“I am not entirely certain, but I think someone unauthorized has been reading from the Secrets section,” Lucien said, lying with nary a blink.  “It would be a relief to me to have an expert eye cast on the matter.  Perhaps he will see something I have missed.”

“I’ll see if he can clear his busy schedule for you,” Cain said, sneering a bit.  He took the books and walked away.

Lucien allowed himself a sigh.  Goodness, he didn’t want to know what had set them to quarreling last night.  But he was sure he’d get an earful of it this afternoon.  That would be his altruistic deed of the day, providing Abel with a temporary safe haven.

Matthew came by for a status report, seeming a little bored.  Lucien didn’t blame him.  As far as he could see, he Raven didn’t have a set duty, much beyond being the Raven.  Lucien wondered of what that occupation must consist.  Eat a worm, fly about the realm to gather the morning news, talk to Dream.  Take a little flight for exercise, pay social calls, eat another worm, talk to Dream more.  (Not that it wasn’t always pleasant to talk to Dream--or if not exactly pleasant, not unbearable--but one must imagine it was a little wearing on both parties to be so constantly in contact.  Even Lucien, in his apparently lofty position as ‘most loyal subject,’ did not expect that his nerves could long stand the strain of constant conversation with his mercurial monarch.)  Gather news, talk to Dream again, take another flight, chat with Eve, eat one more worm, sleep.  

Not Lucien’s preferred lifestyle, certainly.  

Lucien reported all systems normal and Matthew flew off.  Perhaps he’d hear back from the Raven later.  Or perhaps Lord Dream would come by, seeking a book or for Lucien to act in his unofficial capacity as advisor.

Happily, advice was likely unnecessary, for the realm had been peaceful.  Since the Wake, everything had been rather quiet, or as quiet as it ever got in the Dreaming.  Lucien suspected that most of Lord Dream’s subjects were still getting used to their bleached ruler and his rather more...cheery?  Disposition.  Still, he hoped that he could get the place a bit cleaner before Dream might come by to look at the dust.

Lucien settled himself into his armchair to read, selecting a history from the towering stack of new arrivals.  He did not have the impediment that many had when it came to reading--specifically, needing to read.  Rather, he looked at the words, really taking not much more than a short glance, and the words would appear in his mind.  He didn’t need to pause to digest them.  He could hold the entirety of a book, in all its parts in his mind at once, and settle it all out rapidly after that.  He saw every word, memorized the text quite thoroughly, and understood it up to the very, very subtle complexities of character, historical context, mood, and symbol, and that within a little under a minute.  Every word he collected had a million lines of connection branching off of it to link it to all the other words Lucien had stored. Everything else was so much detail, easy to consume.

He got through his stack in about four hours, but he was going rather slowly.  Perhaps he’d woken up on the lazy side of the bed today.

He set about the business of shelving the books.  Later on he’d write them all down in the catalogue books.  The catalogue books were extensive enough to require a catalogue themselves, and it would’ve been much simpler for someone to simply ask Lucien where or what something was.  He kept the records as a formality, so that in the event that anything...untoward happened to him or his mind, there would be a record of things.  

The Eumenides had taught him a rather valuable about permanence as it affected the technically-immortal.  More precisely, it had taught him to doubt that any such thing as permanence, at least for him, existed.  He’d never actually been under the shadow of his own destruction before; certainly the 70 Years had been rather rough on him, but however much of his mind had been barreling down the path to complete lunacy had been balanced by the unyielding force of chilly reason.  He was a Dream and would only die in any real way if everything stopped dreaming.

Somehow the Ladies didn’t have a problem bypassing that.  And though he doubted that it would happen again, he had taken to having back-up plans.  It couldn’t possibly hurt.

Of course, he wasn’t entirely sure that he was doing very much with his new lease on life, either.

After the Wake, life had taken on that business-as-usual quality that typically marked everything about the Dreaming.  Sure, there were the occasional troubles and little social problems--a few figments escaping into the Waking, for instance, and needing to be drawn back, and the few supremely rude nightmares that persisted in holding a grudge against Lucien for what he did in defense of his Library during the Crisis.  But all had settled back into its flow.

He had done nothing about Mervyn.  Not a blessed thing.  He was happy (very, very happy) that the scarecrow was alive, but to his dismay the end of the considerable drama did nothing to lessen his rather intense feelings.  He had held out a faint hope that he would be able to put those unwieldy affections back into the dark, but there they sat, ever ready to burst out into the clarity of day.  Lucien was not a poor actor, however, and as he had not observed any change in Mervyn’s end of their interactions, he was confident that the scarecrow was none the wiser.

Of course, it was still alarming and very distracting.  Being in love was a rather tedious business.  It meant long hours and a constant poker face, as one’s own self rebelled against one.  Lucien was the keeper of a secret it would be unwise to reveal, one that must be entirely shrouded at all times and at all costs if he hoped to have a friendly and collegial relationship with Mervyn--as he did. Yet it was also a secret that was simply dying to burst out of his mouth, that was burning beneath his skin all the time he was around the janitor.  He was walking a tight rope that he’d never known had even existed.

It was somewhat unpleasant.

Still. His own problems aside, they must have order, and they must have a tidy Library.  Lucien found that his usual mask was sufficient for the task and that he and Mervyn fell into approximately the exact same relationship they’d had before, the gruff, good-old-boy janitor and the solitary, bookish Librarian, unlikely friends.  Mervyn was still the one with whom he most often spoke, and almost the only one with whom he spoke for pleasure’s sake.  Mervyn was the only one who seemed to regard him as having any interests other than books, and Lucien was grateful for it.  It was of immense value to Lucien to have an equal, especially one as utterly unlike him as Mervyn.  It was very pleasant to hear from the opposite side of reality.

He didn't know exactly how the scarecrow had come to own his affections. It must've happened when he wasn't looking. No one could make him struggle so much to repress a smile like Mervyn, and no one got him as close to raising his voice at him (well, except for that one very embarrassing time with Lord Dream). There was just some quality to the man Lucien found entirely intoxicating, pumpkin head and stick-and-straw body and all. Something that drew his attention like a moth to a flame. Sooner or later, he knew, it would burn him.

In the meantime, all he knew was that that was the way it was, and there was really very little he could do about it but carry on as he always had.

So he was stuck. But at least it was a useful sort of stuck, the sort of stuck that could be worked around and allowed one to still be productive.

It was fine. He was fine.

Midway through his shelving, he felt a few volumes being pulled down from the adventure section. He concentrated on the feeling. 'Dangerous Spy Adventures,' a rather tawdry little volume with a picture of a half-naked woman fondling a handgun on it. 

Mervyn must be here.

Lucien slid down his ladder and dusted himself off a bit, walking towards the Adventure section. The floor desperately needed attention, perhaps Mervyn himself or one of the bats under his charge could look to that this afternoon. And if they could spare the time, the tops of the bookshelves were in a ghastly state, and there was the lamentable state of the carpeting right in front of the door that simply screamed for--

Lucien blinked. That sound. There it was, the sound he'd been missing all day! His curiosity couldn't let this rest--he listened hard, pursuing it. The cleaning could wait just a few moments.

But to his surprise, his hearing led him straight towards his original destination. It was a tiny, tiny noise, but he'd missed it so much all day that he couldn't not hear it, not as he grew closer and closer to its origin. Lucien could see him through the gaps in the bookshelves.

Mervyn was leaning against the bookshelf and reading the little book, his booted feet crossed over each other. He was smoking a cigarette, blast him, hadn't Lucien asked him a thousand times not to do that in the Library? It was bad for the books!

Lucien paused. The noise...was coming from the janitor. What was it? It sounded a drum as played by an ant--steady, repetitive, more familiar to him than anything--

It was a pulse.

A pulse coming from Mervyn, who was a scarecrow and unlike many of the more human-and-animal-shaped Dreams, had no internal organs at all, much less a heart.

Lucien knew. Unbidden, the memory of a ghastly sight outside the castle walls blazed behind his eyes. He knew. He’d seen all there was to Mervyn’s composition.

He didn’t have time for that now.

Lucien did not announce his presence but remained just out of sight. As something that tasted a great deal like panic nudged at the back of his mouth, he slid his bare hand up his exposed throat, touching his palm against the hollow of his jaws.

He had no pulse. He'd gone the whole day without a pulse, without any motion of his blood, but he was still alive. He had had a pulse yesterday, because the problem with the sound had only begun today.

He had a terrible feeling that he knew what was going on. 

Cleaning could wait. He left Mervyn there, trusting in the scarecrow's obsession with espionage to keep him in place until Lucien could assemble a few facts. He put a little sign on the checkout desk, promising his return, and tried not to run all the way to his chambers and his bedroom.

\--

He stopped by the kitchen for a knife. When he was safely within his bathroom, he locked the door and stripped to his waist. Taking a deep breath, he summoned what small ability he had to force dream logic on this. Not to feel the knife, because he was dreaming. Not to bleed, because he was just a dream--not to die, because he wasn't quite living, couldn't die if he didn't even have a pulse.

Lucien carefully cut into his own chest, careful only to pierce as far as he had to to open the cavity. 

It didn't hurt. He didn't even feel it, actually, though he registered a certain discomfort at the sight of it. He'd always wondered a bit what Lord Dream had put into him when he'd made him this body. His Majesty took quite a few cues from human beings, as it turned out. He could see his lungs as they filled with breath. That air was wasted, of course, because the air did not feed his motionless blood. He had all the right parts, it seemed, all functioning. But they didn't all need to function for him to stay alive.

Lucien looked for, felt around for his heart, though he knew it had to be gone. He'd heard of this happening before. Figurative language was rather unheard of in the Dreaming, as it happened. It really did rain cats and dogs if Lord Dream was in a funny mood, and someone really could hold your heart in their hands.

Oh. This was going to be mortifying.

Lucien squinted in the mirror, watching the muscles and skin of his chest knit back together. He was dreaming. Wounds could appear and disappear in seconds. 

He hurriedly redressed, straightening his tie. He washed the knife carefully, leaving it on a towel on his bathroom counter. He walked back to the Library, trying to be as calm and cold as he ever was.

The taste of panic and humiliation mixed in his mouth, and he tried not to let them reflect on his face.

Mervyn wasn't in the Adventure section when he returned. He made a few quick search, finding him at last in his own armchair, sitting in it improperly, with his legs dangling over one arm. Lucien's pulse was still beating, healthy and strong, as he approached, although it did seem to speed up a bit. Marvelous. As if the significance of the matter wasn't painfully clear already.

"What's good, Loosh?" Mervyn asked, making the Jack O'Lantern equivalent of a raised eyebrow.

"Good afternoon," Lucien began. Then he stalled out. What could he do? What could he say? 'Pardon me, I don't suppose you are aware that you've captured my heart, are you? Would you mind returning to me all my love and passion?' Good heavens. He cleared his throat. "Ah, as you can doubtless see the floor is in a rather poor state. I wonder if you and yours might be able to clear it up for me?"

"Sure, I got a little time. That it?"

"Er. Perhaps the tops of the bookshelves? That might be easier for someone with wings."

Mervyn lifted both non-existent eyebrows, a slow smirk appearing in the sharp lines of his carved mouth. Oh no. Oh no, he knew, he knew and he was laughing, no, no, no...

Lucien drew himself up a little straighter. He would not be cowed by this. He couldn’t help it and it wasn’t his fault, be it ever so embarrassing. “And I am afraid I need your help finding something I have...misplaced.”

“Yeah? Whassat?”

Lucien could hear it. Merv had probably found it and stuck it in his hip pocket, where, unfortunately enough, it probably belonged. “I think you may have my--”

“LuhLucien?”

Lucien managed not to jump out of his skin. Instead, he turned around in time to spot Abel as he came around the corner, ignoring the unkind thought that in that instant, he understood Cain’s position a little better. The First Victim could not have picked a more inopportune moment to arrive, could he? “Abel. Good afternoon.”

“Guhgood d-d-day. Yuhyou s-s-said you wuhwanted t-to suhsee me?”

No good deed goes unpunished. Lucien did jump a bit this time, as Mervyn stood up and clapped him on the back. “I’ll get on the floors and stuff, Loosh. Anything else you need?”

“Ah, yes--perhaps you could stop by my quarters this evening? I shall be in all night and I would like to ask you about my lost object,” Lucien said hastily. At least there they would be alone, and uninterrupted. 

“Sure. All right, back to the grind.”

Mervyn stumped off in the direction of his mops and buckets, and Lucien turned to Abel, inclining his head slightly. “I am afraid I have lied to you--there is nothing here that needs you examination. But I thought perhaps you would appreciate having someone to talk to.”

Abel smiled brightly, and Lucien’s reluctance waned. He really was doing right by the poor fellow. His own concerns could stand the waiting. “Thuhthanks, Lucien...th-that’d be g-g-great!”

Lucien forced his lips to twitch upward slightly and waved him out of the stacks and towards his armchair, the only real ‘talking permitted’ area. He locked away that little panicking part of his mind.

It would have to wait.

\--

Merv waited outside the Librarian’s front door for a few minutes, finishing off his smoke. He could feel Lucien’s heart beating under his shirt, where he’d stuffed it this morning to keep it handy. He hadn’t exactly been expecting anything when he’d stepped out of his room this morning, but a red little heart beating on his doorstep would’ve been at the bottom of his list.

Ruthven had told him about something like this happening to him before. The rabbit had had quite a few lady friends before, but he was sticking with his current gal because her heart had hopped into his hands one day. That was a pretty mighty expression of feeling, giving someone else your internal organs, and Ruthven figured that such a lady might be worth holding onto, at least for a little while. 

Fuckin’ Dreaming. This place was screwy at the best of times without people’s vital bits running amok. Merv had thought the whole idea was disgusting, so imagine his surprise when he spotted the heart this morning.  
 At first he was sure it was a mistake, or maybe Cain had done something like blow Abel up and the chunks of the First Victim had gotten some serious distance. But the heart bounced closer to him and butted up against his boot, and that was that. Obviously it had been looking for him.

Merv wasn’t a squeamish kind of guy, so he picked it up. He thought about putting it in the trash but...hell, it seemed cruel to throw somebody’s heart away, and if someone was out there wandering around without it, they’d probably want it back. He’d take it with him on his rounds and see if he bumped into whoever-the-hell owned it, and let her down easy. 

It had beat nice and steady in his hand, moving blood that wasn’t there. It was pretty nasty, but nothing so bad as all that. He put it in a ziplock back and stuffed it in his shirt pocket. There it pulsed quietly for most of the day.

Nobody had ‘fessed up to it, though, not the whole damn day. Everyone seemed fine, although they gave him some funny looks and asked him if he was aware that he was making a pounding noise. Sure, he knew a ton more people outside the castle, but that was a hell of a long way for a little heart to go! Merv had been kicking around the Library and drawing up a list of people to talk to about it tomorrow, when something kind of weird had happened. 

He’d been half-heartedly looking for the Librarian when Lucien had come to him. Or nearly. He’d watched through the shelves, his face pointed towards a book, as Loosh stopped still and felt at his pulse. The Librarian’s expression suddenly seemed panicked and he hurried away, and the Library doors banged shut a few seconds later.

Well damn.

What the hell?

Merv thought about it for a little bit, wandering over to the Librarian’s armchair and plopping down in it. He wasn’t blind--he had a pretty good idea that something, even if he didn’t know exactly what, was going on with Loosh. 

The Librarian had been a little...different ever since the Wake. That smile he’d turned on Merv when they met again in the Cathedral; he’d never seen anybody smile like that, much less Lucien. A smile that unreservedly joyful wasn’t an expression he’d ever even thought the stuffy, repressed, restrained man could make. He’d been practically glowing. It made him look a lot younger, that smile, a lot more alive.

And he got it from Matt later that Lucien had pitched a fit when Merv’d gone splat thanks to the Kindly Bitches. And not just pitched a fit, but pitched it at Dream. And Dream had still had it on his mind even after the whole thing was dealt with, which was how Matt knew about it. Loosh, freaking out? _Talking back_? Merv thought that was impossible, bullshit, weird gossip. Maybe not.

Of course, he and Loosh had always gotten along, in a weird way, even when they weren’t really getting along. Loosh was boring and prissy and uptight, but he was also smart and pretty good company and sometimes he let the littlest little bit of a dry sense of humor stick out. He was also the only one Merv felt like he could talk to as an equal, more or less...with his boys, he was technically the boss, and who the hell wanted to talk to Cain and Abel anyway? Eve was all right, but she was a dame, and Matt was only second-best because he was a freakin’ bird and Ol’ White Wash kept the Raven in his hip pocket. And while technically Loosh was like Dream’s right hand or whatever, the Librarian also had his own thing going on and thought for himself.

So he talked to Loosh a ton, and the more he talked to him, the more he liked him. Sure, he acted like Dream’s lapdog a lot of the time, but he was pretty all right and he seemed to like Merv.

But then there was that smile, and all the other weird little things Lucien had done ever after. He wasn’t sure Loosh even knew he was doing anything. The Librarian didn’t seem to know he smiled at Merv a lot more, and really never at anyone else; and instead of Merv always coming to find him, now Loosh sought him out first. If Merv caught him while he was reading, more often than not the Librarian would close the book and turn his full attention on him. 

Loosh had only ever stopped reading for Dream. Everybody else got whatever attention he could spare.

And now Lucien was having trouble with his pulse, which was pretty intimately related to his heart.

Well, well. He should’ve seen this one coming a lot sooner than he had, but better late than never. The only question was, what was he going to do about it?

It wasn’t all that weird to the scarecrow, knowing that a guy had the hots for him. After all, he was a sexy beast! And though his libido generally belonged to the ladies--the many, many, many ladies--that wanted a piece of him, every now and then he’d switch it up a little and chase some queer tail. He didn’t do it all that often, because the guy had to really catch his eye, and that didn’t happen much, but he still did it. So he had some experience in this kind of thing.

Loosh, though. Damn, that was out of the blue. Not the queer part, but the Merv-part. He’d always been sure that Loosh, if he batted at all, had to bat lefty. You didn’t get a fella as prissy and stuck-up as that without a little something going on, unless, of course, Loosh was a swishy ace. That’s what Merv had always thought he’d been, though on the gayer side of that particular spectrum. 

And Loosh was so...Looshish. All uptight and stern--what was he doing, pitching his heart at a guy like Merv? Out of all the Dreams in all the world...

It had been kinda cute, and yeah, sorta sadistic of him, to watch Loosh get all bent out of shape over talking to him today. Merv shouldn’t have held onto his heart, made him have to ask for it. He was being a jerk when he did that, but he still did it, because it was so damn unexpected and he wanted to see what was really going on. 

Lucien was obviously flustered, which was one of those things that Merv had always thought happened to other people and not the spotless Librarian. Merv couldn’t get enough of it, seeing prim, perfectly proper Lucien nervous over him. He shouldn’t have enjoyed it as much as he did, since it was kind of a dick move, but if Lucien could just spit the words out, Merv wouldn’t razz him too hard about it. After all, Merv wasn’t that much of an asshole, and he didn’t want to be one. It had to be pretty weird for Loosh to be out of his element like that. 

He wasn’t totally sure what he was going to do about this, knowing Loosh was in love with him. He wasn’t Merv’s type, really, not even the type he chased after when he did go for a man. But Lucien wasn’t exactly hard on the eyes, and he had a definite thing to him that was kinda interesting. And he did have those legs that went from here to Ya-Ya...

Thinkin’ a little too much there, Mervy. 

Merv flicked his cigarette out one of the palace windows and banged on Lucien’s door. Time to hash it all out.

Loosh was looking a little rough when he answered the knock, though his face was expressionless. He was even paler than usual. That didn’t surprise Merv much. It must be pretty rough, having your blood standing still all day. Not that Merv knew, since he didn’t even have the luxury of blood. 

“Good evening, thank you for coming,” Lucien said, stepping further back into his parlor to give Merv room to enter. Merv smirked a little. “May I offer you anything to drink?”   
“Gotta beer?”

“I do not. I have a small amount of wine, if that would be acceptable,” he replied, standing with his hands behind his back. Pillar of ice, looking at Merv like butter wouldn’t melt in his mouth.

Merv gave him a little grin. Well, c’mon, Loosh just made it so fuckin’ easy! How was he supposed to be cool about something like this when it was so damn out there and Loosh was being so damn prim and proper about it? “Yeah, all right. You oughta have a drink, too, Loosh, you look like you could use it.”

“I will not, thank you. I do not typically imbibe.” Lucien walked over to a small cabinet set against the wall and began fussing with the wine glasses. Merv stuck his hands in his pockets and looked around.

Loosh kept a tidy living space, from what Merv could see. It was a tiny room, with two armchairs facing each other across a small coffee table. Beside them was a small fireplace and a mantle with a clock on it. Behind one chair was a writing desk and two windows, and against the wall opposite the fireplace was the counter Lucien was standing by. Behind the other chair was a door--Loosh’s bedroom, Merv guessed. Aside from the fire in the fireplace, a few old-fashioned gas lamps kept the place lit. It just figured that Loosh wasn’t hip to electricity, the stuffy old Victorian so-and-so.

And there were books. Everywhere. Every surface except the floor had stacks of books, and two big bookshelves overflowed. The place was probably a tinderbox, with that much paper and fire mingling, but Lucien didn’t seem to notice it.

Merv betook himself to one of the chairs and sat down with an ‘oof,’ glad to get off his feet. Every day was a long day when you’re working behind the scenes of other people’s dreams, and he was beat. “You don’t drink? Matt told me once that he saw you draped all over some chump at the Wake, hammered.”

Lucien turned, a wine glass in his hand. Damn. The last time Merv had drunk wine, it had been out of a red Solo cup. Say what you will, the Librarian did have class. “Those were extenuating circumstances. And he was no chump--he was a dear old friend.” Lucien handed him the wine glass and moved to the other chair, flicking his coat tails out of the way as he sat. Merv at last noticed the china teacup and saucer on the coffee table. Lucien picked it up and placed it on his knee.

“Well, excuse me,” Merv said, rolling the eyes he didn’t have. He took a slug of the wine. “So what’s up?”

Lucien visibly swallowed, looking anywhere but at him. “I am afraid that you have inadvertently come to acquire something belonging to me,” he said quietly. “I sincerely regret any inconvenience or awkwardness this may have caused you, but if you could please return it to my possession I can assure you that that will be the end of it and we will never discuss the matter again.”

Merv drank a little more wine, starting to feel bad for the guy. Loosh got all het up about being ‘improper,’ didn’t he? It wasn’t like he could help it or anything--he didn’t need to be all embarrassed and stiff about it. It was just Merv. Besides, a little love might actually loosen the Librarian up, which couldn’t be a bad thing. He was so wound up at the best of times that it wasn’t surprising that he was too tense to tick and his heart had taken a little vacation. 

“Sure, man, but you don’t gotta worry about it,” Merv said. He put the wineglass down on the table, squelching his smirk as Lucien leaned forward to lift it and place a coaster under it. Merv reached into his shirt and fished out the plastic baggy. 

Lucien looked at it for a moment, sitting there beating in Merv’s hand, before reaching out to pluck it away. “Thank you. You have taken very good care of it,” he said softly, and Merv had the sudden thought that Lucien was miserable, and that he didn’t like that. 

Because as weird as it was, Loosh was his friend. He didn’t want to see a friend of his all torn up like this.

Merv hastily finished off his wine. “You need any help putting it back in? Second pair of eyes might be good.”

Lucien glanced at him warily. “I thought perhaps I would just swallow it again. Do you think that placing it in would be a more efficient solution?”

“Probably. You don’t wanna end up digesting it, y’know? Puttin’ it back in’s probably best. Long as you don’t mind a little blood, I mean.”

“Are you sure you wish to lend your assistance? I shouldn’t like to keep you from your other engagements.”

“Got nothing going on tonight. I’m good to help you out.”

Lucien’s mouth twitched a little, the first real expressive motion his face had made. “Thank you. Your company may prove quite valuable.” He placed his teacup on the table beside Merv’s glass and stood, taking a knife off of the mantle. He sat back down, placing the knife on his knees, thinking for a few seconds. “I am sorry, but I shall have to undress a bit for this. Would you care to--”

Merv flapped a hand at him. “Doesn’t bug me. Go ahead and we’ll get your ticker back in.”

Lucien nodded and began to peel off his layers. Merv had never noticed just how many clothes the guy wore--jacket and waistcoat and tie and shirt (the old-fashioned kind, with the collar and cuffs and cufflinks he had to take off). He looked a kind of weird naked, almost as pale as Dream and skinny as a rake, with his ribs sticking out a little. Merv couldn’t ever recall having seen north of Lucien’s wrists before, if those, no matter what the weather. He was surprisingly wiry and if it weren’t for his pointed ears and impossible thin tallness, he would’ve looked very human indeed. Merv was pleasantly surprised.    
Lucien picked up the knife and casually stuck it into his chest. Merv almost had to laugh--he’d been expecting a deep breath, or something in the way of steadying himself. But nope. Business as usual for Lucien. This guy...

Lucien slowly pulled the knife down, eyes closed in concentration, the muscles in his arm standing out a little with the effort. He wasn’t bleeding, of course, since there was nothing to push the blood. “You all right?” Merv asked.

“Fine,” Lucien said in a tight voice. “It is...somewhat uncomfortable.” He cut a little further before pulling the knife out. He leaned forward and set it on the coffee table. He stopped and picked it up again, this time setting it on top of a napkin.

Somehow, that was just it. Merv burst out laughing, unable to stop it. Lucien gave him a confused, scandalized look. “I take it something is very humorous?” he asked stiffly, sitting there half-naked with his chest cut open and his heart in a plastic bag on his lap.

Merv looked at him and laughed harder. “Sorry! Sorry, man, just--HAHAHA--shit, Loosh, only you, man, puttin’ the thing cuttin’ you open on a napkin! A fuckin’ napkin!”

Lucien glanced at the knife and once again his lips twitched up a bit. “I--hem--I suppose this is rather absurd,” he said, working his mouth to prevent a smile. 

“C’mon, man, I can’t be serious about this shit, it’s too crazy,” Merv said, shaking his head and chuckling. “I mean...Jesus, the fucking Dreaming, am I right? A guy just tries to do his job and get by and one day he wakes up without a heart, and another guy’s trying to do the same and wakes up to find it on his doorstep. You an’ me don’t need this shit, we’re busy enough, y’know?”

Lucien sat back in his seat, a full-fledged grin having forced its way onto his mouth. “I admit that this has not been my idea of a good day,” he said, an undercurrent of laughter in his tone. “And you are right--as if we didn’t have enough to handle...”

Merv hopped to his feet. “All right, stick your heart back in. I’m pouring you a drink.”

“I--”

“A drink, Loosh. We both need one and bad. If you don’t need help with the heart...”

“I’ll be fine,” the Librarian replied. Merv wandered over to what passed as Lucien’s liquor cabinet and watched, over his shoulder, as Loosh carefully withdrew his own heart from the bag and pushed it into his chest. Merv rustled the glasses, watching as the long cut sealed itself up and Lucien sat back with a thin smile, a very little color returning to him. Almost as an afterthought, he pulled his collarless shirt back over his chest and did up the buttons.

‘Damn,’ he thought. And then he thought, ‘what?’ Merv shook his head, stopped thinking, and poured out two very generous glasses of wine, swaggering back over and pushing one into Lucien’s hand.

“Thank you,” the Librarian said, keeping the fingers of one hand pressed against his pulse point. “Good heavens, the things you miss when they’re gone,” he said dryly, taking a long sip of wine.

There they sat, shooting the shit for nearly an hour. There wasn’t much to talk about really, but they managed to fill up the air. They talked smack about Cain--or Merv did, with Lucien providing a few small comments and several significant glances--and wondered when Dream was going to find a lady friend again. They talked about what the Raven did, anyway, and who of Merv’s bats was do for promotion. Lucien told him about the time the Fashion Thing had tried to inflict late 18th century French fashion on him and the near-bloodbath that followed, and Merv told him about living in the Bronx and driving a bus in the Waking.

When it was finally late enough and the wine was gone, they teetered towards the door. Well, not quite teetered--it took a helluva lot more than a little wine to get Merv really drunk, and Lucien didn’t so much stagger as he loosened up and swayed.

They spent a few minutes saying goodnight. 

“I never did really want for you to find out about it,” Lucien said, tipsy and leaning lazily against the wall. “Least of all in that completely humiliating way.”

Merv shrugged. “Doesn’t bug me none. Hell,” he chuckled, “I’m kinda flattered. You got good taste, Loosh.”

Lucien rolled his eyes. “Oh, spare me, you ham,” he said, smirking. “Thank you for being so calm about it. And for taking good care of my heart.”

“Sure, anytime.” Merv decided it was time to go before the evening could get any weirder. “I’ll see ya around.”

“Quite.”

Merv opened the door, looking one more time at the Librarian. He was smiling, that thin, small, little smile he’d taken to wearing without knowing he did it.

Loosh was all right. He was a really good guy.

“We don’t have to never talk about it again, by the way,” Merv said. “Since I ain’t gonna forget it in a hurry, even if I try. Might as well not try to pretend it never happened.”

“You raise an interesting point, Mervyn,” Lucien said quietly. “I shall consider it seriously.”   
“Not too seriously. More serious can’t be good for you.”

“Good night, Mervyn,” the Librarian said, sounding like he was about to laugh. 

Merv grinned and took himself home, smoking a cigarette to pass the time. 

Well, well. Loosh in love, and with Merv Pumpkinhead. Who’da thunk?

Not that Loosh was doing anything about it. He probably didn’t know how.

Merv grinned a little to himself. This was something to think about. And he’d probably think about it a lot. And who knew what might come to pass? Stranger things had happened.

It was the Dreaming, after all.


End file.
